


Going to the Beach

by ButterflyGhost



Category: Wilby Wonderful (2004)
Genre: Graphic Descriptions of Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unrequited Love, attempted suicide, requited love!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:31:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duck has always wanted more, but if this is all he ever gets of Dan, he'll take it. Because when he sees Dan waiting for him, it's almost enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going to the Beach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [look_turtles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/look_turtles/gifts).



The first time he sees Dan there, his heart does a flip. He hadn't realised Dan was... well, he'd hoped. Even though he knew it was stupid, because hope hurts. He hoped for love, had hoped for it a very long time, but all he ever got was sex. Hope is a beautiful thing, though, too good to give up on, and so, whatever life throws at him, Duck keeps hoping. His father used to tell him he was dumb, dumber, dumbest, and maybe he was right. Better dumb than hopeless. 

And yeah, Dan is standing there, against the trees, watching the beach, barely visible, although the moon is out. It's nearly too bright for this, there aren't many men here tonight. People prefer not to see or be seen. Want touch, connection, but need disconnect, anonymity. Oh, they know that they'll see each other again, on the island, and when visiting the mainland they might happen upon someone they know. But they'll never let on. 

What happens on the beach, stays on the beach.

Duck wants more. He has always wanted more. He looks at Dan, blurred by the shadow of the trees. He has become accustomed to the darkness, and although he cannot see the hope in Dan's eyes, he can see it in the lines of his body. The way he holds himself. Hope and terror. Terror seems to be winning. 

Dan moves, takes one step nearer to the beach, then freezes, takes a step back. Urgency hits Duck then. Dan might... he might go away. This might be his only chance. Their only chance...

It is easy to cross the distance between them in the dark. 

“Hey.” He knows enough not to use Dan's name and scare him off. He never uses names here. None of them do, no matter how well they knew each other in real life.

“Hey,” Dan replies. Yeah, he'd been right. That was hope and terror.

“You...” Duck pauses, flounders. He's always found it easy enough to hook up before. People don't come here for the conversation. But now he feels his mouth go dry. Words were never his friends, and now they forsake him utterly.

Dan comes to his rescue. “You wanna...?”

“Yeah.”

“'Kay...”

And then Dan's hand is on his shoulder, trembling, and he is leaning in for a kiss... lips closed and dry, like a twelve year old. Like the frightened man he is.

But he's the one who moved first, and it feels like something breaks through Duck's whole body. Dizzy all through, from his head to the soles of his feet. Tingling. A distant part of him is keening in his head, 'ah no, don't, don't fall, don't fall again,' but only now as he returns the kiss does he realise it's too late. Was too late all along.

He's loved Dan for years.

And his arms are around Dan's waist, hands sliding under his shirt, and he's whimpering with 'want, want, want,' and 'need, need, need,' and yeah... his father was right. He is dumb, dumber, dumbfuck. But Dan's mouth is open now, and he's making noises back, and his tongue is moving, a strange muscle, urgent with it's own, 'want, need, more,' and they are rubbing up against each other, humping each other's legs, and this first time they never even get their dicks out. They come in their pants like a couple of horny teenagers, and Duck drops his head for a moment on Dan's shoulder, and swears he won't cry.

And he doesn't. Not yet.

The next time he sees Dan on the beach he bites the inside of his cheeks, to make sure he doesn't smile his recognition. They are still feigning anonymity. Trying to pretend that they don't see each other round the island most everyday. There is nothing visible between them in the real world, nothing more than there ever had been. Duck wonders how Dan got so good at denying himself, and then thinks maybe he was born with it, like his other kink. 

But there he is on the beach, and it seems as though he's looking for someone... and then Dan is walking up to him. Me, Duck thinks, deliriously, he was looking for me.

It becomes a regular thing. Perfunctory. With anyone else this would be bread and butter sex, no more than that, quick hand jobs, or grinding, but the kissing... The kissing is heaven. And it's Dan's hand on his cock, Dan's cock in his hand, and it's Dan's thigh pushed between his leg, letting him ride it, and it's Dan's breath shuddering in orgasm into the crook of his neck. 

And then, one night, Dan has released his zip, offering his hard on to Duck's hand, and Duck falls to his knees. He'll show Dan kissing. The most intimate kiss.

It tastes like Dan smells, warm, and rich, and Duck loves it, so fucking beautiful. So hard, so smooth, he could kiss it and caress it and love it forever. But Dan goes off in his mouth too soon, and his cry sounds strangled, pained. Duck looks up, and sees Dan in the dimness, staring down at him, as though he's never seen him before. He makes a choking sound, pulls up his zip, and flees.

Duck kneels on the sand, and doesn't cry. When he was a child, he saw Peter Murphy mistime a cast, and the fishing hook went through his cheek. The man had panicked, tugged at it. By the time it came out of his face there was a hole you could see the teeth through. Duck's sure that Dan won't be back, and it's a hook in his heart. But he knows not to worry it, not to tug at it. It will only hurt worse. Duck is used to having his hopes dashed. Squeezing his eyes shut he opens his pants, grabs himself, and jerks off, imagining it's Dan's hand. Knowing that every time he does this, from now on, it will be Dan's hand that he feels on his cock. 

The following week he stands by the trees, just in case. And there he is, like a miracle, walking toward him. Dan. And this time, when he sucks him off, it's slow, and it's like Dan's trusting him, exploring this, not frightened any more. Duck cups his ass, urging him with his hands. Gradually it speeds up until Dan's gasping wordlessly, facefucking him like he'll die if he stops. And this time when he comes, he drops his hand onto Duck's head with a sigh, and strokes his hair. 

The tenderness of that touch kills him. Duck comes in his pants, groaning, and it's like a body slam, it's so unexpected, so hard. Then Dan's tidying himself up. “Thank you,” he says, pauses like there's something else, and then turns and walks away.

The pattern of it changes after that. Duck blows him, Dan wanks him hard. And it's getting better, because Dan knows his rhythms now, knows how to touch him, where to touch him. Sometimes he even strokes the cleft of his ass, sometimes a finger tip teases there, and Duck knows what he's thinking. And yes, he would tell him if he asked, yes you can. When Dan jerks him off he kisses him, hungry, tender, hard, deep... different every time, every time the same, and every time better than before. Because Dan's a great kisser, and the man learns. 

And then comes a time when Dan is going first, unbuttoning Duck, and instead of grabbing with his hand, he kneels. Duck freezes, his hard on bobbing hopefully in the night air. He almost says 'no', but then there's the touch of a tongue, right on his tip, just at the tender point of his little slit, just where he's already leaking. And Dan has tasted him, and moaned.

Don't come, he pleads with himself, don't come. You've got to make this last...

Warmth, heat, tongue, teeth... Dan's arms are wrapped around his body, hugging him hard, and the sounds he's making are vibrating along his cock, and when Duck comes he swallows him down, every drop. Duck's legs give out, and he falls backward, hits a tree, and slides down. Dan's still kneeling, and for a moment his expression is... ecstatic. Then his face changes, and Duck realises why. Like an idiot, like the dumb fuck his father called him, he has reached out a hand, and is stroking Dan's face. This isn't like Dan stroking his hair, because they're looking right into each other's eyes. Naked. And they've never been naked before. Stupid, dumb, idiot... Duck shouldn't have crossed that line. Dan jerks back to his feet, and despite the obvious bulge in his pants, he starts to walk backward, holding his hands out, (stop, stop) like a child warding off blows.

Even worse, Duck breaks the first rule. “Dan,” he says, pleadingly. Dan shakes his head, and turns, his walking becoming jogging, his jogging becoming running, and then he's away.

Duck comes back every week, but Dan's not there, and he's losing hope. It dawns on him that he hasn't done anyone but Dan since the first time he saw him there. They'd been “going steady”. He'd laugh if he didn't want to cry. But he hasn't cried yet.

Four weeks later, he's there, another clear bright night. Dan. But... The hook in Duck's heart pulls, is tugged right out, ripping out a fleshy hole. Dan's with someone else. Someone else has their hand on his cock. Dan's eyes are closed, and his head is back, and he's looking grim, as though this isn't fun at all, and it's only then that Duck realises he isn't kissing the guy. He's got his head twisted away from him, like he's trying not to see. He comes with a grunt, nothing like the noises Duck is used to, and when he opens his eyes, he sees Duck standing there, and turns his head away. There are shiny tracks on Dan's face, and when he sees that, Duck finally gives in. He cries. He turns and walks away.

He doesn't go back for a long time. He doesn't even jerk off any more, because now he can't feel Dan's hand on his dick. He sees Dan in someone else's hand, his face twisted not in pleasure, but in something like despair. Something like hate. Like he hates himself. Like he wants to die.

Life on the island continues. When he sees Dan around they are studiously the same as they ever were. Nobody would guess a thing. Except...

One day, Duck's struggling with the ladder, about to climb up to clear the guttering for Mrs Wheeler, because her husband is in the hospital again. He's been working all day, his arms are tired, and he nearly drops the thing, when a hand reaches out, grabs a rung, and steadies it. Duck knows immediately who's hand that is. 

“Thanks,” he says, and fixes the ladder against the wall. He looks at Dan, then up and down the street. Nobody else in sight. 

Dan makes a tragic attempt at a smile. “S'alright,” he says. “Er... how you been?” He's got hope and terror back in his voice. Duck feels it, hope slithering back into his chest. He wishes he could crush it dead.

“Been okay.” 

Dan's looking at his mouth, and his tongue creeps out. Duck's cock twitches, remembering all the ways that mouth has kissed him. That wonderful tongue.

“Yeah,” Dan's voice is low. “See you round?”

“Yeah.”

That night he returns to the beach, and Dan comes straight to him, like he's never been away. Neither one of them says anything, but they're kissing so hard they end up on the ground, and the nearest naked they've ever been. Duck hadn't realised how hungry he'd been for a kiss, and now Dan's kissing him like he's been starving too. 

“Roll,” Dan's whispering, “roll over.”

Duck rolls, pushes his head against his left forearm, as though it was a pillow, as though he could bury himself in it. Hide. But he wanted this, he wants this it's just...

Dan's been learning, he realises. It hurts, hurts to know that someone else has taught him this...

Oh, but, oh... that man can kiss. Somehow his pants are almost all the way off, hanging around one ankle, and he should be petrified, anyone could see them. A thing like this, somebody's got to be watching, jacking themselves off on it. Dan's tongue is up his ass now, and he'd forgotten how strong that tongue was. It's never been there before, and it's oh, yeah... good. So good. The slither of it, up and down, and in and out. Twisting, sending shudders through him, like slow electricity. But then he hears a twig crack, hears someone gasping rhythmically in the trees, and he's terrified. He comes from sheer fright, far too soon, thinking of eyes. He shudders but says nothing. Because Duck wants this, Dan wants this, and he wants Dan to want him, needs him to touch him, to at least touch him, not touch some other...

“Can I?” Dan's whispering his ear, and Duck whimpers his yes. He hooks one leg up, tilts his ass, and shivers. Dan's come prepared, is slicking him up like he's been doing it forever, so yeah, he's been learning. And he's planned for this. There are fingers now inside him, rolling him open, and it's been so long, years and years, since he's let anyone do this to him. What is he thinking? He should tell him to stop...

“Don't stop,” he hears himself plead. “Don't stop, don't stop...”

The fingers come out, and he freezes with anticipatory pleasure and dread as Dan's dick nudges between his buttocks. “Can I,” Dan whispers again.

“Yes,” Duck begs, “yes.”

Dan begins to push in. “It... it doesn't hurt?”

And it does, it really really hurts. Almost as bad as the first time, but Duck knows it gets better. Maybe not this time, but next time will be easier. He can't bear to wait, couldn't bear it if Dan changed his mind... 

“No, it doesn't hurt.”

Dan pushes in harder, pauses as he feels Duck clench. Waits for his body to relax. “You sure it doesn't hurt?”

This is the longest conversation they've ever had, since first grade. Oh, that hole in his heart...“No, no, it doesn't hurt,” Duck whispers, wanting to be filled. The burning, the stretch, the pain... it's not quite pain, he tells himself. It doesn't quite hurt. It's his heart that hurts. It's thumping like a fist on a wall, bloody knuckled and broken. Beating so hard he might just die. 

And then with a surge of pain that paints the world red and white, Dan is all the way in. And Duck is trembling, and hard again, and Dan's moving. Gently at first, but gradually faster and faster. Duck's trying to breathe, trying to ride through the pain, but Dan hasn't learned that much yet. He's mistaken the noises Duck's making for pleasure, and maybe they are pleasure but... stop, don't stop, stop, don't stop... Duck has no idea any more what he's saying, or what sounds he's making, but he comes again, long, and hard, and dry, and Dan's still thrusting and pushing inside him, and Duck's crying now. He hates this, he loves it, he knows they're being watched, he's ashamed, he's in ecstasy, and oh God, he's coming again, so hard and dry it burns.

Dan groans, and Duck feels his pelvis crush his buttocks as he thrusts in, one last time, and he feels the long slim body rearing up above him. Duck bites down into his arm, and feels the pulse in his ass as Dan comes. Doesn't feel any surge of wetness... and oh yeah, his father was right. Dumb, dumber, dumbest, dumbfuck. He's lucky Dan used a condom, because he had completely forgotten to ask. He is beginning to spiral into pure shame, when Dan lies back down on top of him, covers him with his body. Duck's not feeling naked any more. For a minute, maybe two, Dan's lying on top of him, breathing hard, and then he kisses him, on the nape of his neck, in the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.

Then Duck's cold, and his ass is burning, and achingly empty where he'll feel it for days, and Dan's got up.

Duck rolls over, pulls his pants back on, finds a missing shoe, and gets, shakily, to his feet. There's sand everywhere, in places sand should never be. Dan puts out a hand to steady him.

“You all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

Dan smiles, and helplessly, Duck smiles back.

After that, it does get easier. When Duck gets there Dan's waiting for him. Dan doesn't go with anyone else now, and Duck's glad. If this is all he ever gets of Dan, he'll take it. Because when he sees Dan waiting for him, it's almost enough.

They have a full repertoire now. Sometimes they hump, sometimes they jerk off, sometimes they suckle and suck. Dan's still a dangerous kisser, and Duck could drown in his mouth. Once in a while they go somewhere very hidden (Duck hopes hidden enough) and he opens himself up. And it's good. Now it's so good. Once, he goes there in the rain, on a hunch, perhaps, and Dan smiles recognition and delight at him. They are the only ones there, and it's perfect. Just perfect, even in the rain. In the middle of fucking him, Dan finally cries out what he wants, gasping it as he comes. “What you have, what you do, do me, do me, do me like I do you.” The next day it's still raining, and when they meet Dan's shaking with want, and Duck knows how he feels. (Need, need, want, want, more, more.) And it's only them, again, and the sound of the waves washing on the beach. So, he takes forever, goes shallow, gentle, slow, and by the time he's all the way in Dan's saying “love, love, love,” but he doesn't say what he loves. And Duck keeps going gently, watching the rain drip from his face into Dan's hair, water running down his back, waiting for each tell tale hitch that teaches him when he's hit Dan's sweet spot, so he can angle himself just right. By the time he's goaded Dan to come he's nearly dizzy with the desire to hump like an animal, but this is Dan's first time, and he wants it to be good. He wants it to be perfect. Dan cries out, and comes again, and then Duck is lost in the white bliss of it, and falls. When they've untangled themselves, Dan takes his face between his hands, and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him. It's the first time they've kissed like this after sex, and Duck's eyes are leaking tears. 

But then, of course, nobody comes to the beach any more. 

The first he hears of it is gossip at the café. And then he knows how really bad it is, when he sees Dan on the bridge. 

Oh, God. 

But this isn't the beach, and they never learnt to talk yet. By the time Duck's stopped the truck Dan has climbed down anyway, is trying to release his foot from the metal slats. 

“Hey, let me help you with that,” he says, his voice calm, and his heart in his throat. Don't spook him, don't scare him, but he's scared himself, scared witless, as he reaches out to Dan's foot.

“I got it, I got it,” Dan yanks himself free, and for a minute looks furious, then is trying to smile, to pretend it's all okay.

“How'd that happen,” Duck asks, smiling back, as though he believes him.

“Just, er, exercising.” 

“Oh, yeah?” And now his suspicion must show, because he's about to break with it.

“Anyway,” Dan's jittering, breath huffing, and he's still pretending to smile. “I'll see you then.”

“See ya.”

And Duck fools himself (no, not fools, he hopes, that's what he does, stupid dumb hope) that Dan'll be okay. Hopes, but shadows him, worries, worries himself sick. But... hopes.

He should have learned to talk. 

Yeah. Yeah. He can talk.

“Hey there.” And Dan's staring at him in the motel car park. He can see it in his eyes, 'are you following me, how did you get here...' But he doesn't say anything. Duck finds language. “I thought that was your car.” Who knew he was so bold? “Got a coupla minutes?”

“I'm, er, just on my way out.”

Not on my watch, thinks Duck, petrified, you're not going anywhere. “How about a minute then?”

Dan seems to have caved in somehow, just turns, walks back to the door. Stands, looking lost in the crummy little room while Duck sits. This isn't a sex thing, it's just two guys talking. And that's... that's weird. That's really naked. He looks at Dan, and feels his mouth dry with fear. He has to get this right. Don't... don't scare him off.

“You gonna have a seat?” 

“Yeah,” Dan breathes out, sits on the bed. “Yeah.” 

Well, if Dan's feeling exposed and naked, Duck's going to have to get naked too. He's going to have to let Dan know it's okay. “I woulda bought a bottle,” he says, “but I gave it up. It didn't agree with me.” Pauses. How to say this? “Well, it did agree with me, but on all the wrong stuff.” Dan gives a little nod, looking at him with those sad eyes. “How you doing with everything?”

Dan sits there, nods, and his eyes speak volumes. He's in bits.

“Maybe it's for the best. I mean, once they've published the names, all right, everyone will know.” He tries to make Dan laugh. “Maybe next year, we'll have a parade.” Dan just sits there, can't even crack a smile.

Music, he thinks, something comforting in the background. “Yeah, sure,” Dan manages, and at least he's speaking. Duck turns on the radio.

“So, what do you like to do,” he says, sitting next to him on the bed.

Dan stares at him. “What do you mean?” Oh, dumb, dumber, dumbest. He knows what Dan's thinking... He's thinking, 'you know exactly what I like to do, we've been fucking for over a year.'

“...hobbies...” he hears himself saying, and Dan's looking lost again. 

“Dunno, not really,” Dan says, like there's nothing. Duck smiles, wishing it didn't hurt. When they were seven, Dan wanted to be a hockey player. He remembers that summer term, so clearly, before Dan's parents left the island, taking him with them. He wonders does Dan remember him, the way he remembers Dan. 

They sit and listen to the music, and finally Dan's talking.

“When I told my wife...” he drifts, “well, we never really had that physical type, husband and wife type relationship...” 

Duck nods. “Right.” All Wilby knows about Dan's wife. The fuckers laugh about the way she treats him. 

“But when it happened...” (when the sky fell in) “I told her. And I knew she'd be... but.” Dan finally smiles. “She said, 'I hope you rot in hell.'”

There's silence as it lies between them. Duck thinks of Dan's wife, the woman he was never really jealous of, because she seemed so far away from what he and Dan did on the beach. Poor woman, he thinks. “It takes time for people,” he says. 

Dan hangs his head.

Slowly, carefully, Duck reaches out his hand, and touches Dan's face. For the first time in daylight, allowing himself not just to feel, but to see him. If he could pour out healing through his fingers, he would. All he can to is rest his calloused hands on Dan's rough cheek, and cherish the friction of it.

“It's rough,” he says, stupidly, as his hand falls away.

“Sorry,” Dan whispers.

“No, I like it.”

For a moment it looks like Dan might smile, then it looks like he might cry. “I like Westerns,” he says, and Duck's forgotten what they're talking about. 

“What do you mean?”

“Something I like,” Dan says, with a touch of shame, like he's confessing some hidden perversion. “I like Western movies.”

“That would make sense. You're kind of a cowboy.” Dan huffs a laugh, and Duck almost begins to relax, thinking that perhaps Dan will be okay after all. “Quiet cowboy.” Dan laughs again, just a breath, and smiles. And that smile is so vulnerable, so naked that Duck finds himself moving toward it, to that sweet mouth, Dan's sweet mouth, just to cover it, keep it warm. 

Dan withdraws, shakes his head. “I'm not, you should go. I, er... sorry.”

“No problem.” And the hole is ragged in his heart.

“I got some things to do.”

And... dumb, dumber, dumbest, dumbfuck. He let him go.

Now Dan is in the hospital.

Dan is in the hospital, and Duck nearly lost him. Nearly never told him... The most important thing. The only thing.

Dan's looking out the window. No. He's looking at the sunlight. He looks peaceful. Like something's poured through him, like he's been washed clean, maybe. 

“Hi.”

Dan turns, and sees him. Surprise and something else come over his face. He looks glad to see him here.

“How you doing?”

“I'm good,” Dan says, his voice still rough in his throat. Duck looks at his face, against that hospital pillow, and is weak with relief. He believes him. Dan's in hospital, but he's already looking better.

He smiles, hands him the flowers. “I picked you these myself.”

The nurse pauses in her note taking, gives them both a sharp, and very nasty glance. Duck doesn't care. Melissa? Yeah, he knows her. She's not long out of school, but she was always a nasty little girl.

Dan is smiling at the flowers, turning them in his hand. He looks at Melissa. “Would you put these in some water please?” Melissa takes them, walks resentfully out of the room, like a child being told she couldn't watch her favourite cartoon. Duck's smiling, and his heart is so hopeful it hurts. Right in the ragged gash of it. Dan's taken an action, he's sent the nurse out of the room, and he's smiling. He might be alive again. “Have a seat,” he says, and Duck moves toward the chair.

“No, no.” Dan's voice surprises him, and he turns. Dan pats the mattress, next to him. “Here.”

He sits next to him, feels the mattress shift, sees Dan shift slightly, nearer to him. And he's so happy, so hopeful, it's going to kill him.

“Nice shirt,” says Dan.

“Yeah, well, it's my good one,” Duck says, pleased and shy that Dan noticed he got dressed smart for him. 

“You're a bit of a cowboy yourself,” says Dan, and Duck realises that they've been looking into each other's eyes, comfortably, and neither one of them has flinched, or pulled away.

Then, Dan reaches out, takes his hand. Lifts it, draws it to his face. Rests Duck's hand against his cheek. And he rubs his face, his roughness, with Duck's palm. Beautiful. Beautiful face. Duck reaches back, takes Dan's other hand gently by the wrist, raises it to his own face. Dan rubs his thumb against his jaw, strokes him on the neck. They're looking at each other, into each other, in the naked light of day. And Dan's no longer ashamed.

Then he knows it. Duck knows. Not as hope, but as certainty.

He and Dan, they'll be all right.

It will be wonderful.

**Author's Note:**

> I found something that is definitely a theme tune for this story... Cherry Beach by Paul Gross and David Keeley... 
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t0lEtUHJpUI


End file.
